Covering all bases as always LoftforWords tapped up guest columnist Lewis Jones for coverage of Sunday’s crucial clash between Stoke City and Bolton Wanderers at the Britannia Stadium.
06.30 - The alarm wakes me from an uneasy slumber. Promised myself I’d go for a run, but why change the habit of a lifetime – that can go on the laterbase. Fitness regime starts Monday. Today is far too important.
The game that nobody has been talking about, apart from me, is here. It is a biggie, you know. The most important game in QPR’s history - yet QPR won’t be playing. You may as well write our game against Champions-elect Manchester City off. Stoke need to stop Bolton winning at the Britannia or we are down. Simple as that.
Firstly, I should make you aware at this point I am not a normal football fan. I am one of you, but I’m not really, not officially. I cover QPR games for the Morning Star, press box access, and all that jazz; I suppose I’m a journalist, but that would be downgrading a noble profession. What I am really is an average bloke, who mixes his love for QPR with his passion for writing and, although I forget it sometimes, I do rate myself as very lucky to have the current role at the Star which allows me to cover the R’s. However, the powers that be for this weekend have allocated me the Stoke game, which, in all honesty, I’d preferred anyway. This is where our season will be decided. I’m sure it’s all going to be very dull.
07.35 - Cornflakes down the hatch, lucky pants on, first problem of the day is the QPR shirt has not been washed and stinks of dirty shin-pads. I wanted to wear it under my clothes as my strike rate for QPR winning with it on is extraordinary. I reluctantly put the stinky hooped shirt on and leave for Euston.
09.35 - Boarded train to Stoke. Saw plenty of Manchester City fans at Euston so can only presume the Kent-based United fans must have switched allegiances. Also lots of Hooped shirts about – I gave a couple of them a “You R’sss” shouts. They joined in. But a “C’mon you Supa…..” was met with a blank face by a young girl. Her dad looked genuinely disgusted with her.
10.00 - On route now. Permutations start to enter my head about what today has in store. The one where Bolton stay up and I have to witness their fans celebrating it is probably the worst case scenario although the thought of having to stay in Stoke forever quickly reminds me that relegation wouldn’t be such a bad thing in comparison. This is just a day trip, after all.
10.30 - Pull into Milton Keynes and train stops by a Rangers fan on the platform in the wonderful red and white away kit. I lift up my shirt to reveal the QPR colours and kiss the badge. He then smiles and starts doing the Taiwo dance. Sublime. I have fallen out of love with the game on many occasions this season as my interest has dwindled slightly but that moment of spiritual embrace with a stranger defines what football in this country is all about. Such a shame we didn’t get the World Cup, we would have bossed it.
11.45 - Train journey passing with no dramas. Check Twitter, nerves increase slightly with every update. Felt reassured that if we did go down then we would be in a great position to bounce straight back – imagine how Bolton fans must be feeling. 12.15 - It slowly comes apparent that the train toilets are out of action. With this train being the slow, rattly one from Euston to Crewe that takes three hours, people start to look around and are worried about their ability to hold out. Man with Stella in hand, Bolton fan too, confronts the train attendant and claims he will piss on him if he doesn’t stop this train for a toilet break, whilst, rather humorously, sipping more of his weapon of choice. Train eventually stops at Stafford for a toilet break – one women was nearly in tears as she waddled across the platform. Carnage and now delays to the service.
12.45 - Further delays now as someone has pulled the emergency stop cord. Rumours that it was Owen Coyle and his team on the way to Stoke are not confirmed but are not to be ruled out. Further ten minute delay.
13.15 - Ah, Stoke. A place where even the sewer rats decline to set up camp (that one’s for you, Neil). How they managed to build a stadium with such beauty is a bit of a mystery. I love the Britannia Stadium. Although rather modern in its layout it doesn’t have the soulless bowl features of most new stadiums and generates a wonderful acoustic when the crowd rise to the occasion, which happens most weeks. They are a raucous, mostly vile, bunch. The hostile crowd are not even allowed to get up close and personal with the players outside the ground. I witnessed Thomas Sorensen and Matthew Ethrington sign autographs from behind a 12-foot fence. I even caught Etherington saying to one chap, “didn’t I sign something for you last week?” What motivates these grown-men to continue stalking the players before every home game is beyond me.
13.30 - Did a bit of man-stalking myself, however, as Gerry Francis was lurking outside the press entrance. Had a quick word and a picture, he said both his sons were in the away end at the Etihad. I wanted to stroke his incredibly assembled mullet but refrained as I’ve heard some pretty nasty stories about Francis making people run miles for disobeying him (ask Les Ferdinand) and running is something that doesn’t agree with me. Not until Monday anyway.
14.30 - Devoured my pre-match chicken and chips. The meat fell off the bone, if you’re interested. Saw Iain Dowie, which acted as another reminder of just how far we have come in a short space of time. Let’s not blow it today eh?
14.45 - Took up my seat in the press box. Nerves really jangling now. All the hard-work and euphoria of last season could be rendered pointless. Realised I was mouthing the words of a One Direction song that was on playing on the PA – steward gave me a strange look.
15.00 - So, this is it. 90 minutes to decide our season. View is perfect, laptop all set up for tweeting action, and a quick prayer to the big guy in the sky. There are inflatables in the away-end, along with plenty of fancy dress which brings back memories of Watford last season. The Bolton fans have turned out in force but I wouldn’t fancy leaving the stadium knowing my team had been relegated dressed as a human hot-dog. It looks as though Kevin Davies has decided to show up as a pub-footballer, too. Teams kick-off – this is it.
15.13 - Before I go on, I just want to explain to you what I mean when I talk about my excitable yet coy release-jig. I have it down to a tee. Keeping my emotions in check whilst in the press area was hard when I first started but I have found a strategy that works for me. It is key to keep most of your body movement to your lower half. Grind teeth together to make a Grrrrrrrr sound and furiously fist pump under your work station whilst side shuffling with your feet. Jon Walters’ opening goal made me produce one, but still to this moment I have no idea how it wasn’t classed as assault (the goal, not my reaction), never mind a foul. Bogdan’s gingerness reflecting from the sun into the eyes of Mr Foy is my guess. 1-0 to Stoke. Hallelujah.
15.39 - Bolton regroup and a goal was inevitable. Their best player by a mile Mark Davies, a footballing version of Joey Barton without the violence, grabbed it via a huge stroke of fortune. Shitbags. Word is that we’re holding out at the Etihad though, oh wait, Zabaleta has scored. Double shitbags.
15.45 – I’m halfway through summing up the first half when Kevin Davies took a break from running around the pitch to no avail, embarrassingly out of his depth, to over-hit a cross into the net. Of course, it was so simple yet so obvious. And all of a sudden trips to Peterborough and Barnsley, on a Tuesday night of course, were back on the agenda next season. Come on Mr Pulis, rally the troops, son. Bus still parked at the Etihad apparently. More chance of me winning next year’s Britain Got Talent with a talented cat rather than QPR staging a remarkable comeback I reckon.
16.03 - Second half-begins. Things need to change. Stoke don’t look at all bothered. Peter Crouch does, a little, and Gerry on the bench even threatened to go for a warm-up. But Bolton just nearly scored again. Check Twitter. Cisse has scored. Sorry? Could you repeat that? Surely someone on a wind-up. Nope, its bloody true as my 24 notifications in the last minute tell me. QPR out of the bottom three. Get your ramps, treats, hoops and tunnel Moggy, we’re off to see Simon, Amanda, Alesha and David.
16.06 - Stoke fans have heard the news and are letting the Bolton fans know about it. Then, a huge roar goes up from the away end and they all start singing. Have City taken the lead? I furiously check Twitter – nothing comes to light. It was just one of those fake goal rumours that only real first-class dickheads get a kick-out of making up. Seriously, who does that? I angrily, put a middle finger up at the away end. Feel rather proud about it too. Smirk to myself.
16.10 - Bloke behind me starts laughing out loud. A handful of hacks, and me, turn around. “Can’t keep Joey quiet can you...” he says. Has he scored? Oh Joey, you really have gone from villain to hero. I knew you would turn it around, you beautiful man. Cometh the hour, cometh the… Oh. The real news filters through. Looks as though his old friend the red mist has descended once again. Quite a kerfuffle too, apparently. Well, that’s us screwed because of the screw-loose Scouser. Come on Stoke, it’s all on you now. Crouchie? Where are you (in Delia voice).
16.20 - I’m staring into the abyss, or more honestly, straight at Peter Crouch. Us R’s have telepathic powers you know. Stare at him, Lewis, tell him to save our season. I’m going insane. You are pulling my leg? Jamie Mackie has scored? That guy who played for Exeter four years ago in the Conference has just scored in the biggest game of the season? Cue the most passionate release-jig of the season thus far, even upper body got involved this time. Fists were pumping. Even did a little version of Pigbag to myself. Wanted to do a Mackie celebration against Derby from last season but decided against it. Stoke, as a town, isn’t ready for my moobs. City now need two goals to relegate us. Emotional rollercoaster or what?
16.47 - Bolton look deflated, they know the QPR score for sure. Tim Reem, a player sponsored by TOWIE apparently – don’t worry I don’t watch it – heads a late chance straight at Sorensen. Final whistle blows. QPR are safe. QPR are safe. QPR are safe. QPR are safe. How the hell did this happen? We have been relegated at least four times this season in my eyes - Bolton away, 14 minutes to go against Liverpool, West Brom away and three minutes to go against Stoke. We have done a footballing equivalent of Fabrice Muamba. Ironic really.
I look to my right. A section of heartbroken Bolton fans start kicking off with a rowdy section of Stoke fans. A few bottles are thrown but nothing serious thankfully. One angry Bolton fan sums up their club’s season in one act of stupidity though. You know it’s not your day when your attempt to throw a half-full bottle of beer towards the home fans but the wind catches it, sends it back whence it came and soaks a section of your own supporters. Epic fails on and off the pitch.
My Bolton fan chuckling is stopped by a man in one of the corporate boxes running down the aisle by the press area – exclaiming “City have done it – it’s unbelievable”. City who? What? When? Why? Oh shit, yes. QPR are playing at City and of course, in typical QPR style, they are now losing. Why change a habit of a season eh, gents? But it doesn’t matter. We are staying up, in the end, thanks to Jonathan Walters and Tim Reem’s failure to divert a header in. Both should finish in the top five of the QPR Player of the Year awards.
Bolton fans are now aware of the City score and start to hurl even more abuse at their team as they trudge down the tunnel. Fine, fine margins, this game. That could have been the QPR team at the Etihad.
16.55 - Gather up my laptop and take a second to pause and think about what today means in the grand scheme of things. These are very exciting times for QPR. We should all feel very lucky. I start to well up a little. The last 18 months have been a real emotional ride. I realise that I’m not shaking anymore and my bowels have seemingly returned to a normal state so I walk back to the press room to see what Coyle and Pulis have to say for themselves. Go find a quiet corner, look around, realise no-one is near, and let out a huge roar of sheer relief. There will be no trips to Barnsley and Peterborough; instead we shall continue to dine at the top-table of English football. QPR are Premier League. Feels good doesn’t it?
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Pictures – Action Images